Aftermath
by Rumaan
Summary: Draco finds the aftermath of war a lonely place.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This was written for the Dramione Remix Round 4 fest on Livejournal. It's been a really strong round with some great remix pairings and stories so I recommend going over there to read them. My pairing was Wall-E/Eve from the Pixar film _Wall-E._**

**Many thanks to the mods for hosting this fest and for including Wall-E/Eve as a pairing. And, as always, to my beta, swirlsofblack, for her magic touch in transforming my hideous grammar into something readable and for coming up with the title for this submission.**

**Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.**

* * *

**Chapter One**

As Draco made his way through the empty Leaky Cauldron, he couldn't help but look around with a sadness that pervaded his soul. He never got used to the absolute silence. Or the destruction. The old pub, which had once been the busy gateway to wizarding London, was a shell. A massive hole gaped in the middle of the roof, scattering beams and roof tiles around what had once been the main bar. The gallery still managed to run around the room, the handrail missing and bits of wooden floorboard leaning drunkenly here and there, with dark corridors leading off to rooms that had once been rented to visitors. The stairs still stood, albeit with half the steps missing. Scorch marks decorated the walls, where spells had been flung around carelessly.

Shaking his head and hitching his bag higher onto his shoulder, Draco lowered his gaze and stopped as he saw a stray paper fluttering in the wind. That in itself wasn't unusual; Diagon Alley and the city in general was strewn with debris. It was the moving pictures that caught his eye. He leaned down and picked the loose fly-sheaf up and smiled as he saw it was from the sports page of the _Daily Prophet_. He stared down at the zooming Quidditch players and felt nostalgia flood over him. He carefully folded the paper and put it in the front zip-up compartment of his rucksack before continuing on his way home.

_Home!_ he thought with a scornful laugh. A decade ago, he would've sneered at his current room and made a mocking joke about how it was only fit for Weasleys. But it had been his quarters for the past seven years now.

He walked his way up the deserted Diagon Alley, his footsteps echoing off the buildings. The sound still had the power to make him jump and scrabble for his wand. It was a hang-up from the war and what had happened afterwards.

_Stop it!_ he scolded himself.

He refused to think about it. The memories could bring back the sheer terror. They also had the capacity to remind him of just how alone he was.

Utterly alone.

He couldn't remember the last person he'd spoken to. Well, he could but he wasn't going to. It was too connected, too raw and it was almost as long as he'd been stuck trying to clean up the destruction that had once been London.

He had no idea what was happening in other parts of the country. His only contact with the world was the fortnightly drop-offs that were deposited into the building that had once housed Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. They contained food and drink and were just enough to last him fourteen days. Sometimes they didn't even do that. He wondered if it was down to whoever was in charge of making the life-saving supplies for him. He'd come to the conclusion that there was usually one person who was in charge of keeping him alive mainly due to the monotonous nature of the packs. There would be a small packet of rice and pasta, a couple of tins of tomatoes, a tin of sardines or tuna, tins of some watery vegetable of some sort or another, luncheon meat, packets of soup, teabags (never enough), powdered milk and vitamin supplements.

Then, on occasions, the packs would change. Usually for the worse. He took it that on those days whoever was in charge of his supplies was on holiday or sick. Only once had the drop-off been luxurious. That had been 3 years ago now, but he'd never forgotten. There had been double the food he usually received, an actual fresh roast chicken that he'd feasted on along with fresh bread, fresh _and_ tinned fruit, condensed milk and a small bag of chocolates that he'd eked out until they'd lasted him a month. When he thought about that pack, his mouth watered and every time he went to collect his supplies, he'd hope that whoever had sent that through was on duty once more. Sadly, it had never been repeated.

He sighed as he climbed the stairs to his room. They weren't his original digs – those had been smaller, darker and damper, and at the other end of Diagon Alley, but when he'd realised it was just him left, he'd switched for this much bigger, studio room with large windows that caught the evening sun. There were also shelves along one side of the room where he stored things that caught his eye when he was cleaning up the mess from the war.

Further to the back page of the _Daily Prophet_, he'd found a couple of new books to add to his collection. They were Muggle novels that he'd never heard of and he was excited to have something new to read. His existence was lonesome and the treasure that he was able to salvage saved him. If he didn't have that, he reckoned he would've thrown himself off a bridge and into the Thames a long time ago.

But he was Draco Malfoy and if he was anything then he was bloody-minded. And a survivor. After all, Malfoys survived at all costs.

And he would survive this all-encompassing loneliness and at some point things would look up. He wasn't quite sure when, but they would. It was this Hufflepuff-like hope that was keeping him alive.

He moved over to his meagre supply cupboard, opened it and grimaced at the contents. He didn't have much left and it was a few days until his new delivery came. He decided to settle for one of the nasty cuppa soups that filled you up for all of two minutes. He'd save his last bit of rice and tinned tomatoes for the night before his next supply drop.

Draco pulled his chair closer to the window, catching the last rays of the sun and placed his mug of watery, unsatisfying soup on the small table next to it. He'd probably miss the one-second window from where it went from burning hot to lukewarm and was actually edible, but he couldn't be bothered to hold it in his hands to gage when that might be.

Instead, he picked up the battered photo album he'd scavenged early on and opened it. The moving images were everywhere – some carefully cut out and others torn with sentences of the accompanying article cut off and framing the photo. There was no particular order to the album. No preference of type of picture. They were whatever Draco could get his hands on. A reminder that people did exist outside and that he wasn't alone.

Flicking through the pages, he stopped at one he'd found almost four years ago. It was one of the stylised Malfoy portraits, taken just before the start of his fifth year. His mother was seated on a regal chair – her back poker straight and only the hint of a smile on her lips. His father stood slightly to the right of her; his left hand resting on her shoulder, his right firmly grasping his cane. His face was stern whilst his chest was puffed out in a gesture of pride. Draco himself stood to the left with a cocky smirk and a supremely confident pose. The world was his oyster – or so he'd thought. It was a portrait of Malfoy power and it always brought strange, conflicting emotions into his breast.

Unlike the other images, Draco had left the accompanying article. It had been written after their trial and had outlined their sentence to clean up and repair London with other notorious Death Eaters.

He felt his eyes tear up and he angrily scrubbed the moisture away, almost ripping the page in his hurry to turn it over. The more cheerful sight of the Falmouth Falcons lifting the Qudditch league title met his gaze.

He sat back, soup forgotten and lost himself between the pages.

* * *

Three days later and Draco was getting ready for another thrilling day sorting out the piles of rubble and rubbish in Muggle London. He was looking out over the silent buildings that comprised the metropolis from his attic studio room, drinking a cup of hot water, when he saw the shower of sparks light up from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

He smiled. It was supply day and he couldn't wait for a decent cup of tea. He'd run out of teabags the night before last and his mornings never felt quite right unless he'd had his tea before setting out to work. He'd had to wean himself off the one sugar he'd previously taken in it. Sugar was a luxury that the powers-that-be didn't think he deserved.

He picked up his rucksack and wand and made his way down into Diagon Alley. His steps could almost be described as jaunty. Supply day never failed to raise his spirits. It was a reminder that other people did still exist and that he hadn't been forgotten, existing alone in an empty world.

It was the muffled noise inside the former joke shop that had him cautiously inching his face around the broken door. The shadow on the floor made him freeze: There was someone in there.

His heart hammered as he slid silently away and around the side of the shop. He carefully climbed a couple of the upturned crates, making sure he made no noise, and peered through the grimy window. He looked for the customary black robes. Had someone else survived the anarchy that had followed the withdrawal? Had they managed to come in from somewhere else in the country? He wasn't sure that was possible. The wards that surrounded London were designed so no one with the Dark Mark could leave or enter.

The Unspeakables had been developing the spell for years, originally planned so they could tattoo prisoners in Azkaban and use the wards to make sure no one got out. It had been started after Sirius Black had escaped and the Ministry realised that the prison wasn't as secure as they thought.

He squinted as he tried to make sense of the sight in front of him. Instead of a remnant Death Eater there stood what looked like a Muggle – complete with jeans and a cherry red jumper.

It was the hair as much as the wand that gave away who it actually was and Draco was sure that he was still asleep and dreaming. Granger? What would Granger be doing here? Unless he'd lived past his usefulness and the Order were planning on assassinating him. He snorted at the idea of sending Hermione Granger to do such a task.

But still, he hadn't seen her since the Great Battle and seven years could change anyone. She might not be the bleeding heart she'd once been. Therefore it would be prudent to stay out of sight until he could work out exactly what she was doing here. It was time to utilise those skills that had kept him alive in the cutthroat post-war world.

His gaze took in the supply drop off that was waiting by the fireplace. He could murder a cup of tea right now but he wasn't going to be lured out by the prospect of that.

* * *

Draco froze as his stomach grumbled loudly at the lack of sustenance it'd received in the previous eight hours. Despite following her since she'd walked out of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, he still wasn't sure what she was up to and he really didn't want to draw her attention to him.

Whilst he might have a wand to help him repair destroyed buildings, it had been tampered with so he could not use it to help him escape or cast any hexes. Granger's wand would be as potent as it'd ever been and she'd annihilate him in an instance if she threw attacking spells at him. She was jumpy, too.

In between her scanning of various buildings, she was continuously alert. Stopping at every out-of-place noise she heard (which was pretty much _any_ noise). She'd come to a standstill now after Draco's stomach had decided to be so vocal.

He crouched behind some oil drums as he watched her swing her wand around, pointing it at the shadows that were beginning to fall. After waiting for 30 seconds or so, she seemed to decide that there was nothing around and went back to scanning and surveying the rusty hulks of the ships that littered the side of the Thames River.

Cramp shot down his right leg, causing the limb to spasm. As he straightened his leg and pressed down to get rid of the pain, his shoe scuffed along the floor and dislodged a stone that hurtled its way down towards the river front, before it clanged noisily onto one of the ships. Granger turned as quick as a flash and shot a spell off, causing the ship to sway and lurch before it toppled into the one next to it.

Draco gaped in astonishment at her behaviour. For someone with such remarkable intelligence, she hadn't done the smartest thing. Those ships were unsteady and at least one still had oil drums loaded. She appeared unaware of the danger she was in and he swore under his breath. She wasn't moving when she needed to get out of the way before any of the collapsing vessels exploded.

He briefly contemplated making a run for it and leaving her but the thought of what might happen to him if the Ministry found out that he'd been in the vicinity and let their star pupil die scared him into action.

Sprinting out from his hiding point, he grabbed her arm and dragged her past the oil drums he'd been behind to the nearest stone edifice, which luckily was a sturdy, strong wall. It wasn't a moment too soon as one of the ships blew up in a ball of fire that engulfed the other ships and the area where they'd both been.

The explosion deafened him. He wasn't used to loud noises, having been on his own for so long. He could see Granger saying something but he couldn't hear her over the ringing in his ears. He shook his head, trying to get rid of the noise but he had to wait it out.

"What were you thinking?!" he asked angrily once the ringing dissipated.

"Malfoy?" she asked.

The next furious question was halted by her obvious confusion about his appearance.

"Did you know I was here?" she asked.

He looked away, not wanting to answer her questions. He felt far too vulnerable, as he still didn't know what her assignment was. He turned as if to walk away but was frustrated when she came and stood in front of him.

"Did you know I was here?" she asked once more.

From the insistent expression on her face, he knew he wasn't going to get away with ignoring her.

"I saw you in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes this morning," he mumbled.

Granger frowned. "You've been following me? Why didn't you make yourself known?"

"I didn't… don't know why you're here."

The way she studied him after his response unnerved him. It had been seven long years since he'd interacted with anyone and was finding this whole experience uncomfortable. The brown eyes finally left his face and she turned to survey the havoc she'd wrecked upon the rusting ships, clearly thinking about something.

He wasn't prepared for the hostile look or for how quickly she raised her wand and trained it on him when she swung back round to face him.

"Or were you hoping to catch me unawares?"

He couldn't help cringing backwards, his hands going up in a traditional pose of surrender.

"No! I just didn't know why anyone was here after all this time. Besides, if I wanted you dead then I would've let that explosion take you out."

She narrowed her eyes and he knew she didn't believe him. Now the surprise at his presence had gone, her face had closed off and she looked cold and remote.

"I'm here on official Ministry business – not that it is any concern of yours. I suggest you go back to your duties and don't even think about hindering mine."

With that clear dismissal, she walked away from the burning ships. At first, he thought she was returning to Diagon Alley, but she turned east, her wand still outstretched and scanning – for what, he wasn't sure.

He followed her at a safe distance before calling out, "It's best to be indoors after dark."

Granger didn't even acknowledge him so he shrugged, turned west and went back to his rooms. He wasn't going to be crazy enough to be wandering around after dark.

* * *

It didn't take him long to find her again the next morning. She seemed to have taken up residence in the flat above Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. He followed her once more, curious to see what she was up to but she followed the same pattern as she had the previous day. And this continued for the following few days, too.

She was methodically working her way through London, surveying and scanning areas he'd worked on and others that were yet to be repaired.

Despite employing all his stealth tactics, she knew he was there. He could see it in the annoyed and exasperated looks she would throw towards his hiding point several times a day. She also refused to drop her guard. Without a doubt she'd hex him on the spot if he attempted to speak to her once more.

So he maintained his silence and continued to do nothing but watch, leaving her before dusk. He wasn't sure what time she stopped and retired back to the old Weasley flat but he wasn't taking his chances in the dark.

* * *

On Day Four, she lost her patience.

"Okay, Malfoy, you may as well come out. I know you're there and your incessant dogging of my footsteps is starting to get on my nerves."

He stood up from behind the pile of rubble he'd been crouching behind and made his way over to her.

"Why are you still following me?" she asked, as he neared.

"What are you doing here?" he countered.

Granger sighed and looked resigned to explaining her mission.

"I've come to assess how habitable London is."

"The Ministry plans on moving people back?"

She shrugged. "It's worked in other parts of the country. We started repopulating the cities about a year ago."

Draco stared in shock. It was weird to think that such momentous things had been happening as he'd gone about his monotonous daily routine with no clue. For all he'd known, he had been the last person alive on the entire island.

"Look, is it possible we could return to Diagon Alley and talk?" she asked.

"About what?"

"The plans to return to London."

"Why do you need to involve me in that?"

"Try because you've insisted on following me for days and, to be honest, you've been living here for the best part of a decade which means you know the state of the city better than anyone else."


	2. Chapter 2

Draco was annoyed to realise that he felt vaguely embarrassed about the state of his living quarters. It wasn't that he was a messy pig – in fact, he kept his rooms spotless. But there was no getting away from the fact that his room was more than a little dingy. It didn't help that it was now dusk and there was no sunshine to help lift the gloomy atmosphere.

He lit a couple of candles. It was a luxury to do so. He usually had to go to bed when the sun did, as a source of light was one thing his supply packs did not have. The ones in charge appeared to only worry about keeping him alive and not at all about his mental health. He'd managed to scavenge a few candles from here and there – mainly around Diagon Alley and other magical buildings, as Muggles didn't appear to use them, the households he'd been in only tended to have a half empty box of small candles under the sink. Either that, or those stupid tealight candles that gave no light. Although, he'd hit the jackpot around Covent Garden a few years ago, mainly in shops that seemed to sell tarot cards and other tacky, so-called 'magical' rubbish.

He turned from his task and saw Granger looking around the room with interest, treating this as if it was giant research project. His embarrassment was replaced with annoyance as he realised that it was precisely that. She'd come here to assess how to repopulate the former capital city and he was providing bonus material for her.

"Sit down," he said gracelessly.

She quickly looked around and spotted the rickety chair he would pull up to the large windows when the sun was shining so he could bask in the warmth. She sat gingerly down, almost as if she was scared of breaking it. He didn't blame her – it was a pretty pathetic specimen of chair.

Draco moved across to his cupboard and pulled it open, bringing out two glasses, which he proceeded to fill with water from the tap.

"Sorry I don't have anything other than water to offer you. My package didn't contain as much as it usually does."

Granger frowned. "Your packages run out before the new one comes?"

"Most of the time. I certainly never have enough tea."

She got up and marched over to the cupboard, pulling it open. "Draco, you only have packets of cuppa soup and some noodles. How long is that meant to last you?"

He shrugged and replied, "10 days give or take."

He turned away. It wasn't his fault that whoever was in charge of his package this fortnight had decided to be less than generous. He didn't want to see the pity he was sure lurked in her eyes.

"I can make some for you. I've been mixing the noodles with the soup and you're probably hungry," he offered, ignoring the fact that his own stomach was growling.

"I have supplies at the flat, shall we go and get them?" she asked, getting up and turning towards the door.

Quick as a flash, his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. "No!"

Granger looked up at him, confusion written all over her face. She then tugged at her arm and he released it quickly. His palm tingled from the warmth of another human and he realised just how much he'd missed simple contact with another person. His fingers rubbed together, almost as if they were caressing the soft skin they had just encircled.

"Why not? It's just down the road."

"I don't go out after dark," he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument.

As usual, Granger ignored listening to something she didn't want to hear. "Don't be silly. What's the worst that could happen?"

He closed his eyes as the memories washed over him. He'd never been as scared in all his life as he had been the first few months they'd been left in the deserted city. Not even during those two terrible years that had preceded that time.

"What is it?" Granger asked.

His eyes flew open and he saw that she'd come closer to him and was looking up at him, questions written large in her big brown eyes.

"Nothing."

"Draco, it's clearly not nothing."

And all over again, he could feel the old irritation he used to get with her rising once more. It felt as if he'd travelled by time turner and was back at Hogwarts, listening to her incessant questions. He'd hated it then and he hated it now.

"Do I look like I want to fucking talk about it?" he asked, snarling.

He saw the shutters close down on her face and she stepped back, her professional persona once more intact.

"Well, I'm going then. I'm hungry and I refuse to eat your food when I have a much better pack somewhere else."

And with that, she waltzed out of the room and he heard her clattering rapidly down the stairs.

It took all of five seconds for his anger to abate and anxiety for her safety to come crashing down.

"Granger!" he called.

His only response was her footsteps getting further and further away.

"Granger! Stop playing games! Come back – now!"

There was only silence.

He ran his hands through his hair and swore aloud to the now empty room. Even though he technically knew it was safe, there was still the fear lurking in the back of his mind that someone was still out there. After all, the only time he'd let down his guard he'd nearly been killed.

"It's okay, Draco, that was years ago," he said to himself and repeated it several times, as if this would somehow make everything better.

But it couldn't stem his nervousness. Neither could the thought that Granger was one of the most gifted witches out there, and was in better condition than anyone who potentially survived the anarchy. She was also quick with her wand. He was still worried, though. Who knew what world she'd lived in for the past seven years? He doubted it had been as dark and desperate as his.

Draco paced until she returned.

The jaunty whistle jarred him as she merrily made her way up the stairs. He could practically see the happy little smile she'd be wearing on her lips. He'd seen it enough at Hogwarts, and, as then, the thought of it made him see red.

He flung the door open as she neared and he stood confrontationally on the threshold of his room. The whistle died as she took in his angry stance.

"I brought some decent food," she said, waving the bag to and fro, as if that would make up for his stress and worry.

"What the hell were you thinking?!" he yelled.

"That I was hungry and we need to eat."

"You don't know what's out there. You have no idea what you could potentially have met."

She put a hand out, placed it on his chest and pushed him backwards, until she, too, was also in the room.

"Relax, Draco. Do you really think they'd send me down here with no idea of what the situation on the ground was like?"

"Yes!" he hissed. "That's exactly what I think! After all, they haven't shown much care or consideration before."

Silence fell between them. All he could hear was his panting breaths as he tried to regain control over his emotions. Granger tilted her head and observed him, making him feel even more awkward and uncomfortable.

"What happened?"

This time he couldn't summon the energy to keep her out. Maybe if he could share his experiences with someone, they'd stop haunting him every step of the way. He moved away from her and sat on the edge of his bed, placing his head in his hands and stared at the floor. He could feel that her eyes hadn't left him.

"What do you think happens, Granger, if you place that many deranged Death Eaters in close proximity with no law or order? It was a bloodbath."

"How… How did you manage to survive?"

He could hear the hesitation in her question. She wanted to know. Of course she did - she was Hermione fucking Granger – but at the same time he could tell she didn't want to cause him unnecessary pain.

"Pure luck and an ability to melt into the shadows."

"Your parents?" she whispered.

"My father was one of the first to go. He tried to protect my mother and me, but although he could be a bastard, he was never as ruthless as many of the others. My mother managed to hold on for a little longer; enough to help me find places to hide, as we looked to stay out of the way. But one day she went out to collect our supply package. We hoped it would be safe at that time. Most of the other Death Eaters weren't usually awake just after dawn. I begged her to let me go but she insisted that it was her turn on the stupid, bloody rota she made us have. She didn't return."

He didn't bother to elaborate further. She didn't need to know about the hours of anxiety where he'd worried about his mother's whereabouts. Or how he'd oscillated between plans until he'd finally Disillusioned himself and gone to look for her. He almost wished he hadn't when he saw her crumpled up body just left in the middle of Diagon Alley as so many others had been. She was half-lying on their supply pack and he'd felt cold-hearted as he'd dragged it out from under her. But he couldn't survive without it and he couldn't stay next to her body mourning, either. He'd had to settle for closing her eyes and giving her a brief kiss on her cold forehead.

For once, Granger seemed to realise that words would do nothing in this situation and he appreciated the fact that she said nothing, didn't look at him, but concentrated on unpacking her supply bag.

His eyes followed her more out of something to do other than to sit there and relive painful memories.

The weeks following his mother's death were the hardest. He'd made his way out into Muggle London. He had no desire to have to walk past his mother's body to get out to do his job – not that anyone else was bothering but it gave him something to do. It also had the added benefit that no one thought of tracking him down out there – they were too busy massacring each other. By the time he'd run out of his double pack and needed to collect another one, there hadn't been anyone left to avoid.

Or so he'd thought.

The plate of fragrant beef stew with dumplings that Granger slid under his nose revived him. His mouth watered at the smells and his stomach growled embarrassingly. He stared open-mouthed at the treat.

"How did you manage that in such a short space of time?" he asked.

She laughed and the merry sound banished the last of his depressing memories. "Silly!" she admonished. "I used a spell to keep the food fresh and warm on several cooked meals to bring here. I made this from Molly Weasley's own recipe."

He didn't get the reference but enjoyed the flavoursome and hearty meal. He couldn't even stop eating when Granger finished her much smaller plate and sat there watching him.

"What?" he asked, as he scraped the last morsel up.

"You're too thin," she said. "Not surprisingly, really, considering the little you've been living off."

He shrugged, embarrassed once more by her observations. "So, you want to repopulate the city," he stated, more out of a desire to say something than actually wanting to know at that particular moment in time.

"Yes," she replied. "The Ministry always planned for the cities to be used once more. And it needed to happen sooner rather than later. Gibraltar is rather too small for the community to relocate to permanently."

"What about the Muggles?" Draco asked.

"They're keen to come back, of course. The Muggle Prime Minister has been nagging us for years now about when the cities would be ready."

"Where have they been?" he asked, not having a clue about the state outside his little bubble of central London.

"The remaining Muggle Population has been living in mainly rural areas; the Highlands, Brecon Beacons, Cornwall, the Peak District. But living in such confined areas that are unsuited for large population influxes for nearly a decade has proved difficult for them and there has been a loss of law and order, resulting in more deaths.

It was strange to think about things going back to normal. Well, as normal as a post-Voldemort period could get. The Dark Lord's last action had been to make plans to lay waste to the country should he not survive the Battle of Hogwarts. Of course, he hadn't imagined that would happen – that he would die.

It had been a task given to Aunt Bella and the Lestrange brothers out of a need to keep them busy. The sadistic trio had excelled their brief, setting up cells of Death Eaters that would Apparate out of Hogwarts if all was lost and cause havoc throughout the UK. Millions, mainly Muggles, had died in the carnage and most of the major cities had been destroyed.

"And they just accepted this with no explanation of why?"

"Of course not. The Muggle government said there had been a mass terrorist attack with dirty bombs used."

"Dirty bombs?"

"Bombs that contained chemical agents. It's been the excuse used as to why there was such widespread death and destruction and why the clean-up operation is taking so long."

"And who did they say did this?" Draco asked, clueless about Muggle politics.

"The Real IRA in response to the Good Friday agreement," Granger said and then gave a brief explanation of something she called 'The Troubles'. Draco soon lost interest and thought about the real culprits.

To make up for masterminding such an atrocity, the Death Eaters had been sentenced to remain behind to clean up – their wands had been tampered with so that they could only do clean-up spells. The Dark Lord's inner circle had been given London to rebuild. Unfortunately, the Ministry hadn't factored in how creative the more unhinged Death Eaters were; the centre had been all but annihilated and it was deemed a fitting punishment for them to have to clean it up. Sadly for Draco and his parents, that had included them, and the Malfoys were never going to be a match for the Lestrange brothers, Dolohov, Rawle and their ilk.

"You mentioned that other cities have been repopulated already."

"Yes. Birmingham, Manchester, Glasgow and Cardiff were our test cities and so far so good."

"And they were cleaned up okay?"

Draco hoped that Granger could read between the lines of that question. He wasn't particularly interested in how those cities had been rebuilt, but rather about whether what had happened in London had happened there.

The pity he read in her brown eyes confirmed that she was as astute as he'd imagined her to be. "Yes, they were finished a lot earlier. The crews have been moved to other cities to get them ready."

The anger that ripped through his chest took him unawares. "Then why was no one moved here?" he asked angrily.

"I petitioned for help to be sent here but the Ministry were worried that another incident might take place."

His rage increased. The Ministry would know that only he was still here. They sent the food that kept the 'crews' as the ex-Death Eaters were so conveniently called, alive. They'd been sending just one for almost seven years now.

He swiped his hand across the table, knocking his plate to the floor. The loud crash did nothing to assuage his anger. "Did the Ministry think they were dealing with some psychopathic mastermind? They sent in a team to clean up the bodies. They knew how close to death I came, how lucky I was to kill Dolohov. And now you're telling me that they suspect that I would take out a new team. I tried to stay out of it. I only came back for food parcels because I could find nothing in Muggle London to live off. They _knew_ this!"

"There were worries about your mental health; about what the massacre would've done to you."

He laughed bitterly. "Right! But yet it was okay to leave me here on my own for nearly seven fucking years? Fuck you and fuck the Ministry!"

He wished he had the guts to storm out; to just get away from it and lose himself in the darkness but he didn't dare. He still couldn't face the dark streets. It brought back far too many memories and even if he knew that there was no one out there to prey on him, he still had an irrational fear that there would be.

Instead he had to settle for staring moodily out of the window into the black night. He could see Granger's reflection in the flickering candle light and despite himself he stood there watching her watching him.

After a silent five minutes, she walked up and touched his shoulder, her eyes meeting his in the darkened window. "I'm sorry, Draco. I'm so sorry you were treated this way."

Part of him wanted to shrug her hand off and spit out a nasty retort the way his old self would've done, but most of him appreciated the sincerity in her voice. He knew her well enough to know that she really was sorry.

"It doesn't matter," he muttered.

"It does!" Granger exclaimed passionately. "You should never have been put in this position and the Ministry knows it. You were never in the same league as the other Death Eaters stationed here. You were just a kid."

He turned and smiled weakly at her. "I see you've lost none of your campaigning, bleeding heart zeal."

Draco had wanted to lighten the mood but he failed. She stared at him, guilt almost radiating out of her eyes. _Great_, he thought, _I've become as useless as a house-elf in her mind._

"I have to go tomorrow," she said.

He wasn't sure why that small sentence made his stomach sink. It was probably because he was going to be alone again.

"Oh," he said in what he hoped was a nonchalant tone but he suspected sounded suspiciously bereft.

He rubbed a weary hand over his eyes, looking to escape the pity on her face. He didn't want pity; he wanted an end to this hellhole he'd been living in for seven years.

"Come with me," she said.

And his heart skipped a beat before pounding back into life.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Here it is, the final chapter for this short story. Thank you for reading and reviewing, the mods of the Dramione_Remix community for hosting this great fest, and, last but never least, swirlsofblack for betaing this for me.**

* * *

Granger giggled and he spun around at the strange, girlish sound. He hadn't pictured her as a giggler but she appeared to be one, standing in the sun in the middle of deserted Diagon Alley, her hand over her mouth to stifle the sound and a red flush in her cheeks.

"What?" he asked, fascinated.

"I'm going to get in so much trouble."

"Why?"

"My one directive was not to bring anyone back with me and here I am, disabling the wards to allow us to Apparate out."

Draco's stomach rolled at the idea of walking into the Ministry. He was leaving his little bubble and no matter how much he'd looked forward to the idea, dreamt about doing such a thing for years, he was nervous. He'd almost backed out this morning but had stopped himself. He would regret such an action until the end of his days.

"Why are you doing this, then?"

"Because it's the right thing to do. I, and others, should have done more years ago once the deaths started, but we all turned a blind eye and shrugged it off as nothing more than Death Eaters."

That hurt but he couldn't fault her for being honest. After all, how sad would he have been if the Dark Lord had treated Muggle-borns in the same fashion? Not very much if he was being true to himself.

"You don't have to take me," he said before he could stop himself.

She smiled at him. "Yes, I do. I couldn't live with myself if I left you here."

Draco looked down at his feet. He didn't know what to say in return. She confused and excited him all at the same time. It was strange since she was the same person he'd known at Hogwarts. There was nothing substantially new about her character – she still asked endless questions and wore her heart on her sleeve but somehow his feelings about her changed. Maybe it was because _he_ had changed.

He was no longer the same boy who'd been sentenced to remain in London until it was rebuilt and he was a far cry from that cocky, arrogant little boy who'd swaggered around Hogwarts believing he was better purely based on what family he'd been born into. Seven years of isolation had changed him and he now appreciated just what it was about Hermione Granger that had the majority of the magical community raving about her. She _was_ special; someone who was prepared to get in trouble with the Ministry just because she didn't want to leave him here on his own.

"Okay, ready."

He looked back up and saw her standing with her hand stretched out. He took a couple of deep breaths before placing his hand in hers.

"You can do this," she said with an encouraging hand squeeze.

He turned his head to face her and locked eyes with hers. They remained like that as she Apparated them out.

* * *

He was disorientated when they landed in the foyer of the temporary building housing the Ministry of Magic in Gibraltar. Sun streamed in through the many windows and was blinding against the white marble. Hundreds of people milled about with zooming paper memos and the noise was deafening. For a brief moment he wished he'd remained behind. This was overwhelming.

Another hand squeeze drew his attention back to the woman standing by his side.

"Don't worry," she said. "You'll get your bearings. This feels insanely busy and I was only in London for a few days."

He nodded abstractly as he caught the glances of several passers-by who stared horrified at him.

"Come on," Granger said, tugging him along to a bank of lifts.

"I'm not sure this is a good idea," he whispered as the looks they were attracting increased.

"Don't be silly, Draco. It'll be fine."

He wasn't so sure if the reaction his appearance was getting was any indication.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"To see Kingsley."

This didn't reassure Draco in any way. He had a natural suspicion of the Minister for Magic and former Order of the Phoenix member. After all, it was under his watch that Draco and his family had been sentenced to the nightmare he'd lived for the past seven years, but no matter how hard he pulled at Granger's hand, she kept hold of it and soon he was in a lift going up to the Minister's office.

"How come this building isn't hidden underground?" he asked, looking to distract himself from his anxiety.

"Gibraltar has maintained good relations with witches and wizards since it was part of Muslim Spain. Obviously, measures were put into place under the Spanish Inquisition to keep the city safe but we've never had to hide so much whilst here. It was the main reason it was chosen to host us whilst the UK was being rebuilt. That, and the fact that it's a British territory."

He tried to hide his smile at her swotty answer but it was so quintessentially Granger that he failed.

"What?" she asked defensively.

"Nothing. It just sounds as if you've quoted verbatim from _The History of Magical Gibraltar_, if such a book exists."

She huffed and said in a reluctant tone, "It does. Well, a history of Gibraltar's relations with magic exists but not with that title."

"I knew it! You scoured the library for it, didn't you? Within the first hour of arriving?"

She glared at him before dissolving into laughter once more. "Well, not quite. I actually published my own history last year."

"Really?" he asked.

"Don't sound so surprised! Here was I thinking you'd have some snarky comment about it being inevitable as I'm such a huge bookworm."

She had a teasing grin on her face and he knew she was trying to make him laugh but all it did was remind him how much he'd changed. Some of it for the good but he'd lost a good part of himself to fear and uncertainty and he wasn't sure if he'd ever regain those parts.

Almost as if she could sense his mood change she rubbed her thumb against the back of his hand soothingly. "It'll be alright."

"You don't know that," he said.

"No, I don't, but I do know that I won't allow anything to happen to you. You've suffered more than enough."

He couldn't help how he tightened his hand against hers for a minute.

* * *

The butterflies in his stomach increased as they reached the office for the Minister for Magic. He recognised the man sitting in the large reception area. The red hair proclaimed that he was a Weasley but he couldn't remember the name.

"Percy!" Granger greeted cheerfully.

Ah, that was it.

"Hermione, back from London?" Percy replied before looking up. His eyes narrowed as they fell on Draco. "What have you done?"

Draco stiffened automatically and he saw Granger turn to him out of the corner of his eye.

"I brought Draco back. It was fairly unhuman the way he was being treated and, really, he's no threat. After all, he didn't attack me and he had plenty of opportunity to do so."

The Weasley looked taken aback by her answer and Draco couldn't stop the warmth that rushed through him as she defended him and her actions.

"Hmm… well, I can't say the Minister will be impressed. You were meant to be assessing the state of the city, not arbitrarily revoking sentences."

"I'll take my behaviour up with the Minister, Percy. Now, is he available?"

"He's currently meeting with the Spanish Ministry but is due back in fifteen minutes or so."

"Okay, we'll wait here, then."

And she pulled Draco over the sofa that sat on the far side of the office. Percy Weasley continued to observe them with a disapproving eye and Draco wished he could relax like Granger. She was humming softly as she flicked through a book she'd pulled out of her rucksack. Unable to think of anything to say that he didn't mind others overhearing, Draco just sat and studied his hands.

* * *

It was considerably later than fifteen minutes when a frazzled Kingsley Shacklebolt strode into the room.

"Percy, could you please book in another meeting with Manuel Lopez Covas."

"Yes, Minister, but…"

"Make sure it's here this time. He always thinks he can browbeat me into agreeing to all kinds of improbable things if we meet at his office."

"Okay, Her-" Weasley didn't get any further because Shacklebolt caught sight of Draco and Granger and stared for a good few moments.

To his credit, he didn't shout at Granger for breaking his one rule. "Ms Granger, Mr Malfoy, if you could both come into my office."

Draco saw a flicker of disappointment flash over Weasley's face as they walked past his desk and disappeared into the Minister's large office.

Shacklebolt ushered them past him and closed the door firmly behind him.

"Hermione, what's the meaning of this?" the Minister asked once he was seated behind his desk.

"I couldn't leave him there."

"I gave you strict instructions to not bring anyone back with you."

Granger leant forward, resting her clasped hands on the desk. "I wasn't going to leave him there. He's been on his own for almost seven years, Kingsley. He wasn't even being fed properly. I cannot turn a blind eye to such inhuman treatment."

Draco wasn't sure that he liked the fact that they were talking about him as if he wasn't there.

"The sentence was passed for a reason."

"With all due respect, that sentence was outrageous. Draco was a minor when he was coerced into being a Death Eater and he should never have been placed in that crew. It's a miracle he made it out alive."

Draco fidgeted, not enjoying the conversation at all and wishing it was over.

"He needed to be punished for his crimes, Hermione."

"He was almost _killed_, Kingsley. You saw the injuries Dolohov inflicted on him; he was lucky he was able to hit that that brick wall with _Bombarda_ and that it fell down on Dolohov. But the Ministry just patched him up, put him back in London on his own and half-starved him."

"Hang on, Hermione, that's a bit harsh. We didn't half-starve him."

"When I got there, he had a few packets of cuppa soup and noodles and that was with eking his rations out."

Shacklebolt shifted uncomfortably. "That's unfortunate."

"_Unfortunate!_ Why was it allowed to happen?"

"I _am_ here, you know," Draco said, fed up of being discussed as if he was a case file.

Both pairs of eyes turned towards him and Granger took her hands off the desk and squeezed his once more. "I'm sorry, I'm just angry that I didn't speak out earlier."

"Apologies Mr Malfoy, but as you've broken your sentence coming here with Hermione, this needs to be discussed. It's a serious matter that will need to go before the Wizengamot. I don't want to increase your sentence but I may have to. And you'll need to return to London today."

"You are not sending him back there alone!" Granger objected.

"A crew will be dispatched to help him clear the rest of London."

"No!" Granger said.

"Hermione, I cannot just pardon him. I'm sure Mr Malfoy understands the need for him to serve his sentence."

Draco nodded, not having expected anything else from the Ministry. They were never very good at being flexible at the best of times and whilst that had previously served his family well, it didn't put the odds in his favour now.

"You're going to send others to help?" he asked.

"Yes. Inverness is close to being finished and I'll send that crew to help you."

A shiver of fear slithered down his spine. Granger was one thing but another load of Death Eaters was something else entirely.

"I'd rather do the job on my own," he said.

Shacklebolt's eyebrows rose at that. "I'm sorry, but that's impossible. We need London cleared as soon as possible. It's imperative that we're able to move the Ministry back in and the Muggle government want to come back, too."

Draco gulped and felt sweat beading along his forehead and top lip. He wasn't sure he could deal with a new crew. What if things went wrong again and they started to rip each other apart?

"Are you crazy?!" Granger asked.

"What's wrong now? You didn't want Mr Malfoy to be on his own."

"He watched his parents get murdered by one of the crews and you're planning to chuck him in the same situation."

"Now, Hermione, this is an experienced crew who have successfully repaired two cities in the last seven years. What happened in London was an anomaly."

"Yes, it was, but that doesn't excuse the fact that Draco went through that experience. How can you even contemplate sending him in with another crew without even any therapy?"

Shacklebolt stopped and stared at him, which made him lower his gaze. He didn't want the Minister to see the fear lurking in his eyes. Granger had read the situation well; he _was_ petrified to be placed back in the same position as before but it didn't mean he wanted everyone to know about it.

"Hmm… I see what you mean. Well, I'll need to discuss this with the Wizengamot before making any firm decisions over what to do with your sentence, Mr Malfoy."

Granger smiled at Shacklebolt. "Thank you."

"Well, I'm scheduled to see them in three days' time anyway about relocating parts of the Ministry and the magical community so I'll bring up the issue of Mr Malfoy then. I suggest you come back to see me on Thursday evening. Until then, Mr Malfoy remains your responsibility, Hermione. Any problems and it will be on you."

"I don't foresee any trouble. Do you, Draco?"

Resigned to his position as a third party in a conversation all about him, he just shook his head.

"Come on then. I guess you'll have to stay with me." Hermione said.

"Oh, and Hermione? I will need a written report from you about London's suitability and also one from Mr Malfoy."

"I'll have it on your desk by tomorrow."

* * *

The next three days went by as a whirlwind for Draco. It was strange to be amongst people once more. After the stares he'd faced in the Ministry, Granger had lent him a hat to cover his distinctive hair and he found it easier to walk around unnoticed even if the cap was bright orange and bore the inscription _Cannons for the Championship_. He'd made a snarky remark about not wanting to wear a Weasley hand-me-down or something that proclaimed support for such a deadbeat Quidditch team. He'd half expected Granger to snap and lecture him about gratitude and showing a little humility but she just laughed and said that it was good he was getting back to his normal self, which surprised him somewhat as his normal self had always insulted her and her blood status.

Apart from handing their reports in to Shacklebolt, Granger didn't work. He asked her to show him around, never having been to Gibraltar before, and he couldn't help but smile indulgently as she took to his suggestion enthusiastically, not only taking him sightseeing but also giving him a copy of her book so he could read up about the town in more detail.

And Draco was surprised to find that it didn't take as long as he'd imagined to settle back into civilisation. The first day had seen him jumping at unexpected noises and finding the sheer volume of people around him intimidating, but with Granger grasping his hand to reassure him, he soon found that he adapted very easily to not being alone any more.

Granger also seemed determined to give him his own personal therapy sessions with her. They talked late into the night about everything – Hogwarts, the war, the chaos in Diagon Alley and what she had been doing whilst he'd been stuck in his lonely purgatory. And he found that she was more fascinating than he could possibly have imagined. There was far more to her than the bossy, bookish know-it-all he remembered from Hogwarts. She was funny with a biting wit that made him laugh and whilst she was compassionate she didn't suffer fools gladly, which he appreciated, being similar himself.

By the time they arrived back at the Ministry for their meeting with Shacklebolt, Draco was dreading being sent back to London. He would miss Granger, which would make his sentence there all the worse. Let alone the thought of having to work alongside another crew after his previous experience.

Granger, too, seemed to feel anxious. She gripped his hand tightly and he realised this was the thing he appreciated most about her. She was a touchy-feely type of person and it was something that he needed after all that time being on his own. To have someone just reach out and take his hand, whack him playfully when he was rude about something, or just rest their head on his shoulder when tired late at night. It was what he'd missed the most in his solitary existence and Granger gave him this contact in bucket loads.

Percy Weasley was no less curious when they showed up in the Minister for Magic's reception area. He stared bug-eyed at their joined hands and looked as if he wished he had the time to interrogate Granger, but as they appeared, Shacklebolt opened his office door and beckoned them in.

Soon they were sitting in the same seats as before, with the Minister contemplating them from across his vast mahogany desk.

"I'm pleased that nothing untoward occurred in the past three days," Shacklebolt said as if he'd expected Draco to cast _Morsmordre _as soon as he'd left the temporary Ministry building.

Draco restrained himself from answering sarcastically and just rolled eyes. "I'm glad I exceeded your expectations, Minister."

"Hmm… yes, well, moving on to the reason you're here: I've spoken to the Wizengamot regarding your situation. I won't lie and say that the decision reached was unanimous… We had a heated debate about what to do with your sentence, but with Hermione's report, and our own observations of your behaviour over the last seven years, it was decided to suspend your sentence."

Granger gasped before turning and engulfing him in a tight bear hug. "Oh, that's great news!" she exclaimed.

Draco sat there, slightly stunned. He didn't imagine this would be the outcome and had been sure that he was going to find himself back in London by the end of the day.

"There are conditions, of course," Shacklebolt said. "Any sign of a return to your previous behaviour will result in a long prison spell. And you will be expected to attend weekly therapy meetings at the building that currently houses St. Mungo's, as well as the re-education lessons held here."

Granger beamed at him. "I set those up," she said. "I used to run them, too, but now Dean Thomas handles them."

"Why doesn't that surprise me," he murmured to her before turning to the Minister. "Is that all?"

"Your vaults will be made available to you, but we will be monitoring your withdrawals. Any larger than necessary amount will be checked and if you cannot come up with a valid reason for said withdrawal, you will find yourself before the Wizengamot."

Draco bristled at the implication but Granger's reassuring pat on his forearm stalled his response and he swallowed the bitter retort that had sprung to his lips. It would not be a good start to argue with the Minister before he'd even gotten out of the office.

Instead, he confined himself to a brief nod of the head.

"Well, that's that, then. Hermione, the Wizengamot would like to see you regarding your report. I've set up a meeting for next week but it all looks good and we hope to get London resettled as soon as possible."

"That sounds great, Kingsley."

"It'll get Prime Minister Bullingdon off my back. The sooner we can implement the plans, the better. He's keen to show how successfully _his_ government has cleaned up the aftermath of the dirty bombs. I believe there is an election next year," Shacklebolt said dryly.

"Well, he _won't_ be getting my vote, that's for sure. He's been an absolute nightmare!"

"You can vote in Muggle elections?" Draco asked, surprised.

"Of course," Granger replied. "I was born a Muggle so the Muggle government has a record of my birth."

His eyebrows rose. It was an aspect of Muggle-born life that he hadn't even considered. Not that he'd thought too much about the impact of finding out you have magical abilities at the age of ten and any resulting consequences.

"Thank you for all your help, Kingsley. I'm sure it wasn't easy to sway some members of the Wizengamot to agree to this," Granger said.

"That's an understatement. Don't let me down, Mr Malfoy."

Draco nodded once more. He might be a Malfoy but he did appreciate the gamble Shacklebolt was taking in rescinding his sentence. It wouldn't be a popular decision.

"I'll see you at Molly's on Sunday, Kingsley," Granger said before turning and making her way across the office to the door.

Draco stared at her a little forlornly. He didn't know what to do now that she was leaving. Where was he going to go? He doubted that Shacklebolt was going to offer him his spare bedroom and Draco wasn't sure whom to approach for somewhere to stay. He didn't even know how to rent a place, never having needed to. He didn't even know where his old Slytherin friends were, or if they would want to hear from him. Then there was the fact that he doubted anyone else would go out of their way to help him.

More importantly, he felt the loneliness wash over him. He'd been isolated in London for far too long and the week he'd spent with Granger had reminded him how pleasant it was to have company. He didn't want to return to looking at his scrapbook of scavenged articles and photos for companionship.

Then there were his pesky new feelings for her. He wasn't sure if they were just a reaction to the fact that she was the first person he'd seen in almost seven years, or if it was something deeper. However, one thing he knew was that he wanted to find out and in order to do that he needed to spend more time with her.

Again, he wasn't sure if he was reading her own reactions to him correctly but she seemed interested too. She'd gone out of her way to bring him back despite instructions not to do so and she didn't hesitate to touch him. She'd been upset at his treatment by the Ministry and had said as much to Shacklebolt.

Granger turned when she reached the door. "What are you waiting for?" she asked.

"Huh?"

"Well, aren't you coming?"

And just like that, Draco knew he was going to get his chance.


End file.
